THE NEWYORKER temporaries. This landscape, as all of them we have seen, is full of sunshine and wind without that static sweetness that so often goes with the pastoral VIew. John Noble has one or two of his seascapes which seem to have been wrung from his soul. There is con- siderable pathos about most of Noble's stuff, and you must remember here is a Kansan, prairie fed, wresting with the restless sea and not quite under- standing its moods. His "Cradle of the Deep" shows his turmoil, and his efforts leave you a bit unsatisfied. With his show last year Noble released himself in a way, and from now on should strike out with a bolder brush, giving more freshness and less of the worked-over appearance that marks so many of his old canvases. 'I'hen there is about much of that stuff the Ladies Literary League dis- cusses during the Winter at its month- ly meetings in Dubuque, from ma- terial supplied them in the dealers' art notes. Some day they hope to give a sociable and raise enough money to buy one for the Public Library or the High School, and thus bring Art to Dubuque. One of the earlier and less scintillating Metcalf's is shown, called "Kennebunk Port Landing." It is not so pleasing as his Berkshire series, nor so well conceived. "ManchurIan Forest," by Leon Gaspard, is arresting at the first glance, but does not mean so much. "An Adirondack Fantasy," by Jonas Lie, is all birches and snow. We wonder if there was a time when artists did not label their canvases. Perhaps, before the day of popular songs. Anyway, there they are and with them Maurice Fronkes, Randall Davey, Horatio Walker, Charles Davis, and Max Bohm, with a pIece or two each.-M. P. Moving Pictures ^ MID the thumping tympana of .f1.. the press agentry and heraldry, Charlie Chaplin has broken over a year's silence with a hobo excursion into the Far North. An earnest, if ogling, first night group crowded into the Strand last Saturday to witness an early Sabbath morning presentation of "The Gold Rush." They ogled well into Sunday as celebrity on celebrity cluttered through the great doors and abandonedly paraded the aisles. So mighty was the crush of the famed that some of them were forced to enter t!1e theatre two or three times to in- ... .- ", U : I t ."t ":\ .. , . ..........'"--,, sure recognItIon. The silver-haired "Çharlot" himself appeared some- where in between appearances and pleasantly fought his way up front to check up on the laughter, tears, and applause which the first-night group so generously is known to bestow (being a supersensitive and kindly professional group). Finally, Mr. Will Rogers having entered (unrecognized) near Miss Constance Bennett, ( unrecog- nized), and one spectator having an- nounced loudly that he was many sails to the wind, the group was exhorted to find its seats and away went the per- formance. T HE Gold Rush" is termed, for the sake of the paradox, it is presumed, "a dramatic comedy." Wherein,lies some unhappiness. For alas! Chaplin has taken this mystic formula seriously and not produced his best! Call it our pose or stone us into silence, yet there seemed little enough to write to anybody about after the first third of the film. It is a bit arty, perhaps. It gets away to a ter- rific start. Along a peak, miles in the air, and miles from nowhere, on a dangerous narrow path, wanders the Lonely Prospector. A storm drives him to an ominous solitary hut. But shelter is hard to win, for the pa- thetic soul has to struggle mightily against the murderous Black Larsen and from being eaten by Black Jim McClay, the man of the chicken-hal- lucinations. Herein Chaplin is old funnylegs himself, sadly burlesquing "The Ancient Mariner" hunger theme, with hilarious effect. He strikes a high spot when he serves up one of his shoes, stewed, devouring his portion as if it were a game bird swimming in luscious garnishments. The scene shifts to a typical Klon- dike town. One might be given to expect wonders of Gold Rush burles- que with the old Chaplin at the re- ceiving end of the Klondike equiva- lent of custard. But one is doomed to disappointment, for Chaplin has seen fit to turn on his onion juices in a Pierrot's endeavor to draw your tears. The mystic formula labors and wheezes somewhat. Instead of con- tinuous merriment, there is doldrum 17 broken by an occasional burst 0 f laughter. Instead of the rush of tears called for, one reaches for his gly- cerine bottle. Mr. Chaplin is appeal- ing straight to the lachrimal emotions. He strikes the low spot of the film when he stands outside in the snow and peers broken-heartedly (as they did in the old songs) into the New Year revelry in the dance hall saloon. Follows a return to the mountain of gold and the tragedy hut. Ensues some fair slapstick, and to sum it all up, a last laugh ending. N ow to spike our own guns. We do not wish to deride Chaplin. He is as deft as ever and far and away a brilliant screen master. He has made a serviceable picture in "The Gold Rush" but it seems that he is not as funny as he once was. Perhaps he has sounded his own and the picture's weakness when in a small curtain speech he said, "You I , . I " W know m very emotlona. ... e recall, years ago, a small boy who is now, whimsically, a stranger to us, shaking with continuous hysteria at the sad clownings of a young slapstick comedian who appealed, so it struck the unthinking lad, only to the emo- tion of plain, honest laughter. Per- haps the days of "The Champion" and "Work" and "Easy Street" are passing for "Charlot." Perhaps they have elected him to an Academy and he is intellectualizing his powers. Per- haps he is getting too metaphysical about pathos. We cannot help but recall with a tinge of sadness, the old days when custard was young. R EX REACH'S new Nickelodeon masterpiece is (you guessed it sir, the little man in the third row) "Winds of Chance" (at the Piccadilly August 21 and 22). It might have provided Charlie Chaplin plenty of material for Klondike burlesque if he hadn't gone north on a Pierrot tour. The chief props of the picture are string ties, wooden saloons, doz. cold-blooded murders and the tender- foot who conquers everything pI us the aurora borealis. It is infinitely better than the work of Mr. Zane Grey and is not without a hit and run, sock the jaw quality. The spiritual features of Mr. Tom Mix are lending themselves delight- fully to a lovely and sensitive drama of moyen age and modern machina- tions in the Fairbanks style It is termed ccl"'he Lucky Horseshoe" (Rialto August 21 and 22.)